With that brutal threat, he strides down the steps onto the tarmac. I’m left behind, horrified, envisioning Cyar with some slower, obsolete plane in a war-torn sky where I can’t even help him.
The two new fighters hurtle down the runway and break for the western horizon.
Fast. Deadly.
Cyar taps my shoulder. “You look miserable.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“And?”
“We’re training with Garrick Carr.”
He gapes like I’ve just kissed his girlfriend. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Apparently I need to learn to deal with my opposite.”
I can’t tell him the whole truth. That’s something he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need to know that he’ll always be the vulnerable piece of my life Father can manipulate on a whim. I never thought how far that might go.
We walk, depressed now, for Father’s plane as the sun appears in the east, washing the base in bright light. The familiar stench of kerosene and the clang of idling metal, the oil-stained tarmac beneath our boots.
Kalt is planted by the neighbouring, unmarked plane, ticking off a list with a pencil, dressed in his heavy wool overcoat. He closes the book when I approach, and Cyar goes on ahead.
“Presents for Thurn?” I ask, watching the men load crates of rifles, handguns, even a few ancient bayonets. The sort of weapons Father’s men used twenty years ago to make Savient. “You know, if we’re going to help the Landorians, they might prefer something a bit more useful. Like actual machine guns. Maybe some mortars?”
Kalt gives me an annoyed look. “It’s for the Etanians. They like the old-guard look for their mounted military parades, so we’re gifting them some Safire vintage. Apparently that’s a thing royals do. Shows unity. And you’d better not act this fresh in front of…” His mouth sets, unwilling to say Sinora’s name out loud.
“I’ll be good,” I say, imagining Cyar in a cannonless plane. I hand him a small blue box. “Please make sure Leannya gets this when you’re home.” He inspects the box, giving a shake. “Careful, Kalt! It’s breakable.”
“What is it?”
“Perfume. Just make sure she gets it.”
He nods and footsteps pound behind, coming near. Someone calling my name.
Arrin.
I ignore him, turning from Kalt and heading for Father’s plane, but he catches up just as I reach the steps. He grips me by the shoulder before I can ascend and forces me to face him.
“You be careful,” he orders. “I begged Father to take me instead, but he won’t listen.”
I’ve spent too many sleepless hours thinking about this. I don’t even care anymore. But one emotion remains. “You’ve got a lot of damn nerve, Arrin,” I say, stepping close. “There are twelve squadrons and you made sure I’d have to salute Garrick!”
Arrin opens his arms. “I’ve seen what he can do in battle. You’ll learn a lot from him.”
“Don’t make this sound like a favour.”
“This has nothing to do with me, Athan. If you don’t learn to separate what you want from the job that needs to be done, then you’re headed for a fall. Why do you think I’m still here? It’s not because I do what I want.”
That makes me laugh. “Right.”
“Bite your tongue. You think I want to spend the summer as Windom’s pet? It’s about as close to a personal hell as I can imagine.”
“Why?”
“None of your damn business.” He grabs me by the shoulder again. “Don’t trust anyone there.”
I throw him off and head up the stairs.
“I mean it, Athan! You watch your back.”
I stop at the door and face him. My voice is slick with sarcasm. “Like you watched mine?”
He stands down there, glaring all hell at me, hands balled like he’d rather they were around my neck, and then I do the one thing I want to do, the thing I’ve always wanted to do—I give him the one-fingered salute.
Then I disappear into the plane and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
IV
SEA AND SKY
14
AURELIA
Hathene, Etania
A tremor of anticipation wakes me before dawn. The eastern mountains have only just begun to glow, bringing with it the Safire arrival, and I sit in my bay window, silent, sketching the familiar view with lazy strokes of charcoal against blank paper. I feel mostly calm. Ready. But my stomach still feels like a knot, and I sing to myself in Resyan, distracting my nerves best I can.
“I am a mountain,” I whisper, “a song you remember.”
Invariably, my sketch changes to Liberty. The leafy branches become his mane and his eyes have hawks in them, wings spread. The poor stallion is still trapped in his stall, injured leg wrapped and splinted, and subtle despair tinges the groom’s reports. They’re leaving the decision up to Reni, the very worst idea. Reni won’t even speak of it. He pretends it never happened, refusing to visit the stables, and now the General is coming and everyone will forget suffering Liberty altogether.
I shade hard enough my pencil splinters.
Yesterday evening, Heathwyn lectured me on the protocol of this visit, rattling off the things to remember while a maid carefully manicured my nails, another one softening my hands with lavender-scented oil.
“All discussion with our visitors will be conducted in Landori, and you’re always to be pleasant and welcoming, no matter the attitude your brother adopts. And you be sure to offer the General the greatest respect. No commentary on Karkev or Thurn or anything contentious. Divert the conversation with a smile if you must, because your smile will be your greatest credit to this visit.”
I made sure to smile extra wide at that, and she clucked her tongue.
“Please, Aurelia, remember you will be watched every moment and your words and actions will reflect entirely on your mother. Reflect well, is that understood?”
She doesn’t know how well I understand that, how the weight of this visit feels like an entire secret world on my shoulders, one that no one else sees, and I promise to smile, smile, smile. Now, the morning sun shines fully and I strain my ears to listen for the sound of aeroplanes in the sky.
A slight impatience pricks inside.
Heathwyn arrives with warm bread and marmalade in hand, a nervous set to her lips, and I pick at the breakfast while she and another maidservant fuss with me—braiding my hair and pinning flowers, dabbing red on my lips and buttoning me into a sea-blue gown with ivory pearls—but in the end, it turns out well.
“The Safire won’t know where to look first,” Heathwyn says, studying me in the mirror, pleased. “You or your mother.”
“I’m sure it will be Violet’s breasts,” I reply with a grin.
Heathwyn clucks her tongue yet again, but she hasn’t seen Violet’s chosen gown for today. I have, and so has Reni, and it certainly leaves only the most critical things to the imagination.
“Aurelia, such comments won’t—”
Her rebuttal is cut off by a growl that rattles the very windowpanes. It’s a fierce sound, echoing harshly off the mountains, passing close overhead. I rush for the window and press my face to the glass, trying to peer up, and Heathwyn tells me to stop because I’ll rub the pink off my cheeks. But there they are! Two Safire fighter planes circling low, flashing brilliant silver in the morning sun. They’re all sharp angles and grey metal compared to the smooth curves of our green Etanian planes, their ferocious noise carrying, surrounding us, seeming to grow with each moment like there are at least ten more hidden out of sight. One loops higher, playful in the morning sky. Black swords wink from the underside of the wings as he spins. Easy and graceful, like a falcon, before diving low again and rejoining his friend. Together, they arc towards the western airfield.
“Stars,” Reni says, appearing suddenly behind me. I step back, giving him space to look as well. “They’re moving at quite a speed, aren’t they?” He cranes his neck as they disappear from sight.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” I ask.
“I have. It was at a circus, and everyone was dressed in ridiculous colours and acting like fools.”